Alice Fulton, the judge for the 1998 Walt Whitman Award, calls Once I Gazed at You in Wonder “quite simply, the most endearing book I’ve read in some time.” Readers of this audacious and, yes, endearing collection will agree. Jan Heller Levi has said that her poems are not confessions but conversations. Here, then, are her conversations with the world. What sets Levi apart, however, is that she lets the world answer back. Difficult fathers, ineffectual mothers are forgiven; ex-lovers are blessed. Sophisticated but never jaded, this poet looks in wonder beyond the self: a cup of coffee in one of New York’s ubiquitous Greek diners can launch Levi into a meditation on truth versus compassion; a suite of elegies for her mother takes us from a hospital corridor to the studio of a television talk show where God is the guest; a poetry reading in which she shares the stage with a folk singer illustrates Levi’s gift for illuminating the absurd textures of late-twentieth-century existence.
Don’t you have any happy poems?
he wondered.
Don’t you have any cancer songs?
I asked.
With the narrative drive of great fiction, the consolations of philosophy, and the rigor of art, Once I Gazed at You in Wonder marks the entrance of a much-needed new voice and vision in the conversation that is American poetry.
Jan Heller Levi, poet, was a student and a long-time friend of June Jordan. She is, with Sara Miles, co-executor of the June M. Jordan Literary Estate Trust. With Miles, she co-edited Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan, and, with Christoph Keller, co-edited We’re On: A June Jordan Reader. Her most recent book of poems, That’s the Way to Travel, was published in a bilingual edition (English/German) by Moloko Print in 2019. She lives in Switzerland with her husband Christoph Keller.
I've been wanting to read this book since 1999, when my mother clipped "My Father Calls Me Every Sunday Morning" out of the Washington Post for me. I think I still have the clipping in one of my many folders. Finding my way back to Once I Gazed at You in Wonder after so many years is strangely fulfilling.
I was not expecting to feel so overwhelmed by Levi's meditations on death - specifically the loss of her mother. I admire the power and originality of pieces like "If We Could Speak of Death, What Would We Say?" I'm glad I didn't read these poems when I was 15, though. Time has made them suit me.
There are also some strange, quixotic poems about marriage, sexuality, and Baltimore. Really, what more could you ask for? This is 4 stars because I don't think the individual poems were ordered/arranged in a meticulous way. The connective tissue seems spotty in the later sections, which creates a harsh dissonance when compared to the fierce focus and cohesion of the first pieces (the ones that deal primarily with death).
At once conversational and confessional, these poems read as glimpses into the fractured life of the poet. A sense of intrusion builds within the reader as poems about sex, deceased mothers and divorce read like dialogue from a script or diary. As the reader progresses through this selection, there is a realization that we are not reading and understanding events in Jan H. Levi's life as much as we are learning how she copes with the changes and pressures of life. Not once does she imply the need for sympathy. Instead, each page reinforces the theme of these poems: disillusion. What else can be expected from a collection titled, "Once I Gazed At You In Wonder".
Wow, so sparkling and weirdly upbeat while heavyhearted and compassionate. Somehow she turns that into a powerful rather than undermining combination. The rhythms, sounds... I can see how this collection leapt out of the pile when it won the Whitman Award from the AAP. Someone said this collection is about disillusion, and while this is a thread, it seems more about integrating experience and moving on without losing any of it.